


Tell Me Next Time

by ToAStranger



Series: Giving Myself to You (Prompt Fills) [27]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter didn't know Stiles was hurt. </p><p>- - - </p><p>Another old prompt fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Steter. Stiles getting injured a lot from the whole "helping out the werewolves" thing. To keep the pack (and Peter) from getting worried, he decides to patch up his own injuries (Maybe sewing up his own minor wounds) Peter finds out... protectiveness ensues (Thanks love!)

“You smell like blood,” Peter says, voice low as he leans in the doorway. 

Stiles pauses, their eyes catching in the mirror, and he hesitates for a moment before pulling his shirt up over his head.  He hisses as the material pulls at the wound where blood has coagulated over, binding his shirt to his torso like glue.  Peter stiffens at the sight, standing up straight. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“Stitches ripped,” Stiles mutters.  "And I was stupid and forgot to put gauze on.“ 

Peter moves closer, a hand reaching out for him and then dropping again, rounding the boy to get a better look at the slash along his ribs.  ”When did that happen?” 

"A week ago.  Against that Puka.”  Stiles says, pulling the cabinet open and tugging out a first aide kit— popping it open with deft fingers. 

Peter stalls, eyes drifting over the things in the box.  ”Is that fishing line, Stiles?” 

“I sterilize it first.” Stiles assures him. 

“That’s not the— Stiles, why didn’t you tell anyone about this?” Peter asks, finally reaching out to touch him, wincing in sympathy at the jagged line across his side, angling down towards Stiles’ navel.  "This is going to scar.“ 

"I don’t mind." 

"It’s not about minding it.  It’s about not telling us when you’re hurt.”  Peter replies, tone sharp.  "It’s about not telling me.“ 

"You knew I got hit.” Stiles shrugs a shoulder.  

“But I didn’t know it was this bad.”  Peter sighs.  "You should have told me.  Or Scott.  Or your  _father_.” 

“No one needed to know.  I can take care of myself." 

Peter gives him a dry look.  ”No one is saying that you can’t, Stiles.”

"But you guys do.” Stiles insists.  "You joke about it all the time.  Weak Stiles.  Defenseless, spastic Stiles who’s more likely to trip over his own feet than actually help.  Useless,  _h_ _uman_  Stiles—” 

“Shut up,” Peter says, hands curling around Stiles’ hips and turning him around, away from the mirror to more fully face Peter.  "Yes, you’re human.  And yes, you’re weaker than the band of supernatural creatures you insist on palling around with— but that does not make you useless.  You have more conviction than the lot of us.  Without you, Scott wouldn’t be the Alpha that he is.  The Pack wouldn’t be as strong as it is.“ 

Stiles glances away, eyes straying down to the floor.  Peter catches him under the chin, tilting his face back up. 

"You matter, Stiles.” Peter rubs the rough pad of his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip.  "And next time, it could be a lot more than just a scratch.  Promise me you’ll let us know, next time.“ 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Stiles nods.  ”Yeah, okay.” 

Peter sighs, grinning faintly.  ”Liar.  Let’s get you cleaned up.” 


End file.
